


This isn't a Corps approved method of stress-relief

by jeanquirieplus (wireless)



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-22
Updated: 2010-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wireless/pseuds/jeanquirieplus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Methodists don't do this either, you giant fucking tease, unless I've been seriously mishearing the Sunday sermon for <i>years</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	This isn't a Corps approved method of stress-relief

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed for once, by the awesome augustbird. Pwp because spirograph wanted a messy blowjob and then this happened. So blame her.

His fingers grapple for purchase on the slippery bark of the tree he's leaning against. Fragments of wood and mould come off and cling to his fingernails. The sodden, slimy mess makes it even harder for him to get a grip–in so many more ways than one–as he looks down at the Ski- at Andrew, who is currently nuzzling his right hip bone with a look of ill-concealed mirth scrawled all over his handsome features. The bastard can barely contain his smirk, as evidenced by the light in his eyes and the strained set of his jaw. Eddie wants to reach out and run his thumb over the strong angle there, or maybe punch him, but instead he thwacks his head back against the tree with a wet squelch as Andrew palms him through the fabric of his damp regular-issue pants. This is a terrible idea.

He squeezes his eyes closed and feels a thrum reverberate inside him, like the strangely perfect combination of discordant chords, and his hips stutter forward in a counter-beat to the ones his heart keeps skipping. A low litany of obscenities emerges from him with very little intervention from his brain. Andrew sits back on his heels and raises his eyebrows.

"I didn't know Methodists swore," he remarks mildly, fingers resting lax against Eddie's thighs, their heat seeping though the cotton and burning brands into the skin there. Eddie stares at him in disbelief.

"Methodists don't do this either, you giant fucking tease, unless I've been seriously mishearing the Sunday sermon for _years_."

Andrew laughs and undoes Eddie's fly with a few rapid flicks of his fingers and Eddie momentarily forgets his ire, too captivated by the easy grace of the movement. He watches and doesn't dare put his hand out, slip his fingers into Andrew's hair, because this is obviously happening to someone else. Eddie doesn't get this lucky. Then his brain shorts out as Andrew spits into his palm and drags a long stroke along Eddie's cock.

He manages to wrench himself back into the here and now with the desperate effort of a man swimming against a rip tide, and watches Andrew ghost his mouth over the head of his cock. He wants to touch him, needs more contact, but he's powerless to pry his fingers out of their death grip on the rotten bark. Andrew looks up at him and says "breathe" quietly, tightens his right hand around the base of Eddie's cock as he runs his tongue over the slit, but Eddie ignores the command and loses his breath for seconds at a time.

He's no blushing virgin, that guitar of his has worked her magic on any number of sweet, willing girls, but never in all this time has he ever felt like this–his ribcage may have collapsed, and his lungs feel like someone wearing jump boots has stomped on them. He can't breath, he can't see, he's terrified and not just a little conflicted but somehow it adds up to the most intensely fucking amazing feeling he has ever experienced, so he does the logical thing and tries to pry Andrew off of him.

"Skipper we can't do this, it's insane," he pants, halfway helpless and probably completely ridiculous because, frankly, what kind of authority does a man with his trousers around his knees and a bobbing cock jutting out into creation actually have?

Andrew breathes out through his nose and slips his mouth up and off (Eddie whines at the loss like some two-bit whore and immediately hates himself) but he keeps his grip steady on the base as he stands, one fluid lithe motion that suddenly has him pressed all along Eddie's front. He leans in and drags his lips along Eddie's jaw, the feathered touch sends shock-waves through Eddie's entire body.

"You are so tense all the time that it's a miracle the ammo in the crates doesn't spontaneously combust whenever you walk past it," he says softly into Eddie's ear. "If you can figure out a relief effort you'd prefer, I'll do that instead." He moves his hand lazily up and down Eddie's cock as he speaks, reaches down with his left to stroke the tips of his fingers over Eddie's balls.

He pauses for a few seconds, mouth lingering against the juncture of Eddie's jaw, the moisture of his breath like a caress on every exhalation. Eddie reckons he's waiting for some sort of response, but he can't imagine what the hell he expects because he's misplaced his voice entirely.

Andrew latches on to his earlobe with his teeth, and sucks gently. "Give me five minutes, kiddo, just five minutes." Andrew's tone is soft, and Eddie nods dumbly, sways a little under the immensity of what he's just agreed to, the motion causing the head of his cock to drag against the rough material of Andrew's trousers. He whimpers, and Andrew presses a lingering kiss to the side of his neck before dropping to his knees again.

Eddie stares down at the top of his head while Andrew–Andrew is trying to kill him. Andrew just slides his lips up the side of his cock, too light for any real friction but just enough that the feeling burns through Eddie like the aftershock of a shell landing too close, and then he grazes his teeth ever so gently over the already weeping head. Eddie lets out a halting breath and finds that his hands have made their way to Andrew's head of their own volition, that he's gripping the other man's hair like good men grasp for salvation. It isn't soft, it's rough with salt and rainwater, too short to offer any decent purchase. Andrew slides Eddie's cock halfway into his mouth and all he feels any more is pressure and liquid heat, the press of lips surprisingly sweet and a sharp dart of teeth in a second of inattention, quickly washed over by the unbearable pleasure of it.

Andrew bobs his head and trails the tip of his tongue along the vein on the underside, pushes back roughly on Eddie's left hip, to keep him from thrusting forward. Eddie keens softly and bends over Andrew, one hand now digging nails into Andrew's scalp but the under gripping his shoulder for balance, fisting into the fabric of his shirt. He realizes what he's doing, that he's probably hurting Andrew, and he regains enough control at the thought of such an aberration that he can unclench his hand. He smoothes it through Andrew hair and leans back against the tree, whispers "I'm sorry."

Andrew looks up at him and hums a negative around his cock. Then he moves his head down, brings his hand up in counterpoint and drags the tips of his fingers along the underside. Eddie groans and thrusts forward with a syncopated, shallow stutter and this time Andrew lets him. In fact, his jaw works to accommodate Eddie's girth and Eddie feels himself hit the back of the other man's throat. Andrew tightens his mouth and sucks, and it's artless and there is, once again, the definite scrape of teeth, but Eddie sees sparks tattooed on the back of his eyelids and they look so much like tracer fire that he opens his eyes again.

Andrew won't lower his eyes, he keeps them trained of Eddie's own and there is no hint of shame. That feeling Eddie knows but refuses to think about, that swell whenever Andrew smiles at him, the openness in his expression, even now with Eddie's cock halfway down his throat–it makes Eddie want to get down on his knees and crawl like a beggar for one more second, for just a little bit more of that grace. He needs it so badly, and the fear of it burns like an arc-lamp in the back of throat.

Andrew frowns at him and pulls off his cock with an obscene slurp, but he keeps pumping his fist up and down, with a slow twist on each upstroke. Spit glistens on his fist and drips down his wrist. Eddie's knees go weak.

"Will you stop?" Andrew asks gently, working his hand up and down. "Stop pecking yourself to death and focus." His mouth is slick with saliva and precome, and a shiny trail of it runs from the corner and down his chin. He glides his lips over the tip of Eddie's cock and swallows him down again, chasing the motion with his hand. Eddie makes a sharp noise he has never made before (all that singing is making his range better he thinks, absurdly) and tries to push Andrew away because fuck, he's so close he's actually losing it, but Andrew's three steps ahead of him and shakes his head, circles his tongue in some magic pattern with a low hum and loops one of his arms around Eddie's thighs, the palm of his hand slotting perfectly against the small of Eddie's back. He holds him there while Eddie drowns and comes out the other side, boneless and confused and exhilarated, and all he can do is stare down at Andrew, who looks unruffled and thoroughly debauched at the same time. Andrew, whose pupils are ever so slightly blown, who wears so many different faces. He's Captain Haldane, he's Ack-Ack, he's the Skipper, he's even Andy sometimes, but only in Eddie's head. Every iteration is passionate about his men, every one of them takes care of Eddie best he can. Eddie suspects he's a little in love with every single one.

Andrew disengages and sits back on his heels, spits into the sodden foliage at his feet. There's a thin trail of semen on the side of his face now, and Eddie reaches out with shaking fingers to thumb it off. He offers Andrew a hand, and the other man takes it and rises to his feet. They're close, close enough that Eddie doesn't actually have to lean forward to kiss him, hands framing the other man's jaw, tongue chasing after himself into Andrew's mouth. Andrew weaves his arms around him and rests his chin on Eddie's shoulder. Eddie tries to reach down for the other man's belt, but Andrew just shakes his head. "Nah, we don't have time. Just stay here." He nuzzles Eddie's neck with a sigh, "just stay here for a minute."

Eddie allows his forehead to fall onto Andrew's shoulder, and Andrew reaches up to run a hand up the length of his nape. "See," he says softly, "that wasn't so bad." Eddie's mouth quirks up into a half-smile.

"So is that what you did to Bowdoin's championship team?' There's a beat and then Eddie feels Andrew vibrate with silent laughter.

"You been talking to Ev again?" He asks into Eddie's hair.

Eddie's smile curves into the rough, sweat-saturated cotton of Andrew's uniform collar. "He's been telling me stories. Swears you pulled some voodoo during halftime and they all got their balls back." He pulls away and quirks an eyebrow. Andrew shakes his head, hands lingering on Eddie's shoulders.

"No, I just gave them my version of the St Crispin's Day speech. They were a good squad, they wanted to win." He grins at the memory, his brow smoothing out. "I managed to motivate them without proffering sexual favours."

Eddie whistles low and tilts his head to the side. "So you say Skip, so you say."

Andrew grins again and hits him gently upside the head. "Twenty-three skidoo Hillbilly. We've both got work to do." He gives Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek and turns away with another smile, goes to make his way towards his tent through the mud. Eddie almost leaves it at that, but he turns and catches Andrew by the sleeve. "Captain Haldane?"

Andrew raises his eyebrows mildly. "Lieutenant Jones?"

Eddie gives him a quick flash of teeth, is gratified to see a pleased expression flutter over Andrew's face. "Thank you sir."

Andrew inclines his head and takes his arm back, brushing his hand along Eddie's for a split second. "Any time."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [非陆战队认可解压法](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3561245) by [yuki812](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuki812/pseuds/yuki812)




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